


New Beginnings

by the_blue_fairie



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Cassunzel Week (Disney), Cassunzel Week 2020 (Disney), F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_blue_fairie/pseuds/the_blue_fairie
Summary: Returning to Corona, the walls between Cassandra and Rapunzel break down - forcing Cassandra, Rapunzel, and Eugene to embark on a perilous relationship that leaves the kingdom of Corona on a knife's edge. Written for Cassunzel Week. Interconnected with my story for yesterday, "Promises and Secrets."
Relationships: Cassandra/Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel, Cassandra/Rapunzel (Disney: Tangled)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided that all of my pieces for Cassunzel Week will be part of an interlinked series of vignettes, all dealing with Cassandra’s return to Corona and Rapunzel, as queen, trying to make things work in a relationship with both Cass and Eugene – a relationship that could have serious fallout for the realm. As such, you should probably read both pieces I wrote for the previous days, especially the one I wrote yesterday. Yesterday’s vignette, called Secrets and Promises, dealt with a young guard accusing Rapunzel of adultery and dishonoring the throne, ultimately leading to a trial by combat where Cass volunteers to be the queen’s champion. Cass prevails and the final scene is of her and Rapunzel in the gardens after the horrifying ordeal of the day. In today’s piece, I attempt to shed more light on how the relationship began as well as provide details of the consequences of that combat.

_“I love you, Raps.”_

She had spoken those words before her departure and letting them fall from her lips was like letting a sword fall to the ground.

Like letting a sword fall after battle, letting it clatter to the ground – its heaviness no longer in her hands.

Yet even with a sword relinquished, even with the battle done, a heaviness remains – the heaviness of consequence.

Letting the sword fall, letting the breastplate fall away to expose the heart, does not heal the wounds, does not give relief.

She thought the words would be like a cordial to her wounds – and they were – they were, after a fashion.

And Rapunzel’s words… Rapunzel’s embrace… they were a more healing cordial.

And yet, wounds still can heal imperfectly.

Wounds can still be left to fester.

Cassandra had thought, for once in her life, she had not been letting the wounds fester.

Thought she had been getting them out in the open, baring her heart.

And perhaps she had.

There had been a softness in Rapunzel’s response, as of understanding...

As though Rapunzel knew what she meant, what she truly meant – and Rapunzel’s embrace, in the moment, had been such a balm to her…

In the moment.

A chance to be open, a chance to be true – Cass thought she had taken that chance, and that, with that openness, the days ahead could be her new beginning.

The wounds of her past ready for mending.

Yet, when Cassandra returned to Corona –

When she felt Rapunzel’s touch again –

All those unmended wounds she hoped were healed reopened.

As though all the openness, all the truth that those simple words, _“I love you, Raps,”_ had carried amounted to nothing – because it was still equivocation in its way, still tucked in the discreetness of a friend, of a traveling companion, of an honorable knight…

Even if it had been like the shaking of a body after battle to say it, the shaking after sword and armor fall away and you have nothing but your flesh which can be hewn – and you know how well it can be hewn because you have been on the field – and it feels like you are being hewn all over again, and so you spasm at the memory that is like a phantom –

Even if it had been like that, it had not been enough.

Except… maybe it was?

Maybe it was enough and Rapunzel knew, Rapunzel understood. Maybe Cass knew she understood. Maybe Cass understood herself, understood it _was enough._ She didn’t have to do any more. Doing more, saying more would only reopen wounds for Rapunzel. Doing more, saying more would only hurt herself and the ones she loved. Doing more, saying more was selfish… but…

But wasn’t letting the wounds fester the egotism that led her to take the Moonstone?

Wasn’t saying nothing just letting the wounds rot more darkly?

And so she spoke, horrified all the while, horrified that with every sentence, she was hurting Rapunzel – horrified that she was doing this for herself –

(would that be bad? to be doing this for herself, to be honest with herself and with Rapunzel? but she wasn’t… not… honest with herself – but then was she doing this for Rapunzel? she was, and yet she was so scared, scared of losing Rapunzel as a friend, scared of revulsion – but even revulsion was a certainty, a stability –)

– she let herself spill forth, said _I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, the way you love Eugene, the way Eugene loves you_ and she was crying and her tears spilled with the words, spilled like the blood and pus of wounds and Rapunzel’s face was a mask –

– until Rapunzel was kissing her and still Cassandra had no certainty – could not be sure it was not a kiss of pity, of pity and affection, an angel’s kiss, white-marble and aloof – and when the kiss deepened, when Cassandra realized she was savoring the sweetness of Rapunzel’s lips and Rapunzel was savoring hers – not white-marble but rose-flesh in all its loving warmth – when Cassandra realized what was happening, she tore away –

Stillness.

Stillness in the candelabra’s light. In its pulse.

Pulsing heat, tinging their tear-stained faces (Cassandra’s tears had smeared Rapunzel’s face in the kiss, mingled with the beads of sweat upon her brow) with hues of orange.

Warm as rose-flesh.

Weak as the walls that keep love out.

The walls should have been stronger.

But no – they should not have been. Cass knew walls too well, knew how they confined.

The walls around Rapunzel’s heart…

Walls higher and harder than the walls of her tower.

Rapunzel, who exposed herself to the world, who scaled mountains in her bare feet, who seemed as open and exposed and true as the free air of a meadow, as the beams of the sun through the blue of the sky…

One’s feet must be tough to scale bitter slopes barefoot.

One’s will must be tougher.

Harder walls than Cassandra’s breaking down.

The understanding that Cassandra had sensed, the understanding that _had been_ understanding.

Understanding of Cassandra, understanding of herself.

Exposed.

Buried.

Buried like the nagging fear that something had been _off_ in the tower, buried like the dream deferred at every silken scoff of Gothel’s…

Exposed like the bolt of light to the heart, the sun-splash that turned waves to fire that rose and crashed in purifying blaze – epiphany’s blaze – as the sun-pattern of all her artistry glistened before her and reawakened memories – let in the softness and tenderness of love shut out…

And then Eugene at the doorway, blinking in understanding, making some glib comment that diffused the tension – gave them all relief –

For the life of them now, neither Rapunzel nor Cassandra could remember what he had said…

New beginnings.

New beginnings, new beginnings, new beginnings.

New beginnings until the next new beginning and the next.

Departing Corona, returning to Corona. Letting Cass go, praying for Cass’s return, praying secretly, knowing the prayer and yet not knowing it while Eugene knew, while Eugene understood and she understood but neither saying it just as Cassandra never said it – except when she did, except when they all did, moving heaven and earth, defying a demon-sorceress out of love for each other – Eugene reaching out to pull Cass into the hug –

The trial by combat was over.

The boy drummed out of the guards and sent into exile.

Queen Rapunzel, beloved by her people.

Queen Rapunzel, kneeling at the boy’s feet before the duel – speaking to him softly, sensitively, as she spoke with all – tears welling in her eyes, voice cracking, the tenderness becoming a plea, the softest plea – she could make him understand, she was not his queen but a young woman, a young woman who had endured so much, so much pain – tower-walls high about her even when the tower had collapsed and crumbled into dust…

He spat on her – and she sobbed.

His spit mingled with her tears.

Ascending after that, judge and judged, Guinevere and Arthur both.

Forced to be white-marble and aloof, the statue of a queen, the artifice-monument to justice –

Forced to be white-marble when she was rose-flesh. Terrified the terror behind her eyes had already betrayed her, half-hoping that it had because then Cass would be spared and the boy would be spared –

Except that Cass would not be spared.

Rapunzel was queen and Eugene her husband.

None would turn on her.

(Was she so sure of that? Was not this boy living proof to the contrary?)

But Rapunzel had antiquity as armor – and Eugene, the marriage-bonds.

Cass had – her own nobility of heart, the name she had made in her travels, through her heroism. Nobility’s absolution, however, what did that matter when set against the image of her – face of ash, hair like blue fire – witch-at-heart, seducer, deceiver?

Cass would let the mob tear her to pieces for Rapunzel’s sake…

Let them cut her throat to see if ash poured out instead of blood, a demon’s homunculus and not a woman – and Rapunzel would be forced to watch as deep red blood spilled from Cassandra’s pallid neck, pallid as the corpse-homunculus the mob had already named her, pallid as the rose-life ebbed away…

But that was a nightmare that had passed…

The boy was gone, giving way to a new beginning…

New beginnings and beginnings and beginnings.

One after another with Sisyphean incessancy…


End file.
